


Memories

by BanishedOne



Series: Coma Baby [2]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Comaverse, OCs - Freeform, Other, Siblings, Suicide, War, botw, character history, its about Brivere and Estuu, link and sidon arent in it, sidlink - Freeform, zoras - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 11:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11690382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BanishedOne/pseuds/BanishedOne
Summary: Sometimes it seems that for every peaceful moment, there are a hundred more of grief and sorrow. Moving forward, we try our best to cling to joy where we can find it, to redeem what lies behind us, to put the pain of our past to rest.





	Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Hey friends. This is just a little ficlet I posted to my Tumblr about Brivere's and Estuu's background. I figured I could just publish it here, for those of you curious enough to give it a read. As usual, please enjoy. <3

A Good Memory; Brivere perhaps never knew his father, which was a shame, sure, but his mother’s presence never left him feeling as if anything in life was missing at all. She was a vibrant youth, perhaps too young to already be a widow, but she never allowed herself to appear sad or fragile. She was, instead, talkative and lively, with more passion than one would think could be contained within a single being.

She had a habit of trying new things. She would pick up new hobbies and quit them just as they became effortless. She would change the order of things around their home with boundless spontaneity. She would go out of her way to locate new ingredients for old recipes with whimsy that was sometimes unusual. She never, ever stopped using the one weapon she felt proficient with, however; the Silver Longsword.

She hadn’t been a soldier, originally, but rather, a songstress. She would tell Brivere, when he was much younger, that she had been alongside those who were evacuated to the Basilica, during the Calamity. She’d been huddled among them, softly singing Dinraal’s Hymn to give her people strength, when the call came for civilians to aid in the fight. The Silver Longsword wasn’t meant for Zoras, but rather as a work of Zora craftsmanship that would appeal to the more blade-savvy Hylians. Weapons were running short though, and as far as she was concerned, a blade not meant for Zoras was the perfect match for a woman who wasn’t meant to be a soldier.

‘You’re as gentle as your father,’ she would tell Brivere as he watched her practice with the sword she’d learned to feel and trust, as though it were part of her. ‘I wasn’t a soldier, but I was vicious and tenacious. He was a trained Knight, yet he was soft as could be. Where he would use his prescience abilities to measure possibilities and spare as many lives as he could, I was just thankful for my scarlet scales, because it helped to hide the blood I was covered in.’

Even so, she still taught her young son to wield her beloved sword. He’d managed to sway her, cleverly insisting that if he was so soft, he wasn’t meant to be a warrior. So, naturally, the Silver Longsword must have belonged in his hands.

During their first lesson, Brivere could barely lift the blade. His mother hummed Dinraal’s Hymn to give him strength.

;

A Good Memory; It was difficult for him to remember much about his mother, but Estuu could recall her voice and he knew he enjoyed the same stories as his older brother. Her voice was rosy and warm, just like her pretty scales, and she would softly recount stories of the war. She often spoke of a shining, golden man who could see the future, and sometimes spoke in riddles, and who thought every life was precious and beautiful. Her words were elegant, lovely things and Estuu hung on every syllable she uttered.

Even through the ignorant veil of innocence, he could reason that everything around him was chaos. He couldn’t understand the social scandal his mother endured, day by day. He didn’t comprehend the mockery his elder sibling faced. Nobody suspected that he knew anything, probably, but he saw it all. He saw his mother’s hands tremble, even when she sat perfectly still. He looked when his brother wasn’t paying attention, and Estuu could probably put a precise date on when Brivere learned to keep his emotions off of his face. He might not have understood, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know.

One day, Estuu’s mother finally understood that her habit of rearranging things caused her young son deep distress, so instead, she allowed him to decide where everything should go. No object was too insignificant and Estuu howled with laughter each time she asked him where something hilariously obvious should be placed. She laughed right along with him, though something in her voice was morose and tearful. Estuu didn’t understand why, but he still knew.

That night, she presented him with a brand new book to add to his collection. ‘The Cursed Girl’. She spent the evening reading to her silent child and he flapped his tail in joy. The way Estuu’s mother narrated was strong yet calming, like a somber, powerful song. She did a voice for each character with such skill that Estuu could close his eyes and see the characters speaking in his mind. He liked the voice his mother did for Lorelei the best.

That was the last time he ever heard his mother’s voice.

;

A Bad Memory; He thought he knew pain enough, before that horrible day. 

Brivere had endured the mockery of his peers, being called a bastard child and hearing his mother referred to by words he didn’t even wish to repeat in the quiet of his mind. He’d learned not to give them any power over him, by hiding away any emotional reactions he might have had. He knew that if they couldn’t hurt him, they wouldn’t even bother. 

He’d endured the shame of the court summons, the day his mother’s marriage was annulled and their previous Noble status, as granted by her marriage to the former First Knight of the Royal order, was stripped from them both.

‘If you were really the son of the former First Knight, you would possess his magical abilities,’ people would say to him. ‘If you were the son of the former First Knight, you wouldn’t be such a coward, such a failure.’

He’d tried to hold his head high, even when his apprenticeship under another Knight of the Royal Order, a supposed friend of his father, was taken away. “There’s nothing I can do about it, son,” he said. “We don’t train anyone for Knighthood who isn’t of Noble blood and status. Frankly, you’re not cut out for Knighthood, anyway. Your movements are sluggish, your instincts are dull and you learn much too slowly.”

None of that even registered as painful any longer, however, after that horrible day. His mother asked him to go out for the afternoon, to take his bow and teach Estuu how to use it. When they returned in the evening, they found her floating in the cistern, the water laced with enough poison to quickly kill her as she breathed it.

That was also the day that Estuu discovered that he had healing abilities. Still, it had been much too late. 

;

A Bad Memory: With his mother gone, Estuu was once again elevated to Noble Status. 

He’d stood before the courts, trying as hard as he could to simply disappear into his elder brother’s shadow. He didn’t care about status or rank and he couldn’t see why it was so important for all of these people to have something to label him, when he was still just trying to comprehend that his mother was gone, forever.

Still, the decision they arrived upon was apparently a difficult one. Though his living father, a Nobleman, did not accept him as his son, he did not deny responsibility for his birth and therefor, this made Estuu a Noble. It seemed more than anything, they just needed an official explanation for giving him this title; the only real reason they cared was because the young Zora was clearly Goddess Blooded, a trait that only belonged at the highest position in their society.

Estuu descended the stairs of the palace that day, sticking close to Brivere’s side in quiet, fidgeting nervousness. There, standing at the foot of the stairs, was the man who had fathered Estuu. He’d been summoned, the same as the boy, and though the young Zora typically refrained from making eye contact, he inclined his neck to peer up at the other.

His scales were a warm amber-gold, his shoulders broad, his chest robust. He had long, elegant fins and a kindly face. Estuu stopped to regard him, quietly looking up at his only remaining parent, a man he’d never even seen before today. The man, whose name Estuu did not even know, turned his stare downward for only an instant, looking over the young boy, measuring his worth. In that single moment, the man’s expression took on a wrinkle of distaste, the way one might react to something mildly inconvenient or unpleasant enough to be avoided. He sharply turned aside and went about his business, without even a word.


End file.
